


Surgery Technique

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akihiko stiches Shinjiro up after a little battle accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surgery Technique

"Fucking hell, Aki. That stings like a bitch."

Akihiko rings out the iodine-soaked cloth. "Shut up and hold still. This needs to be cleaned before it gets infected."

The gash is on the meaty part of Shinjiro's thigh, right where the flesh begins to get sensitive. Shinjiro makes a frustrated sound through his teeth. He collapses back on the bed, and Akihiko can feel the tremor in his muscles as he forces himself to relax. He's in nothing but his shorts, and Akihiko can't help notice how skinny he's become since the last time he saw him naked.

"I don't even know why you're bothering with this," Shinji grits out as Akihiko rubs the cloth in slow circles across the wound. "The Shadows aren't even really alive, they don't carry fucking bacteria."

He starts to get up, but Akihiko plants a hand in the middle of his chest, just under his solar plexus, pushing him firmly back down against the mattress. Shinji grunts as the air whooshes out of his lungs.

"Calm down. That doesn't mean you didn't pick anything up on the way back here. It's not good to take chances, Shinji. Do you really want to risk losing your leg?"

Shinjiro doesn't say anything, but that's permission enough, so Akihiko goes back to his task, cleaning the wound thoroughly, wincing internally when he realizes it needs stitches.

"I don't suppose there's any point trying to convince you to go to a hospital, is there?" he asks.

Shinjiro lifts his head off the pillow, tendons standing out in his neck as he strains to make eye contact. "What, Aki, don't like playing doctor anymore?"

"Shut up," Akihiko mumbles, feeling his cheeks threatening to go red. Shinjiro is still the only one who can put him off balance, even after two years.

"I know you only volunteered to fix me up 'cause you needed an excuse to get my pants off," Shinjiro goes on, crossing his arms behind his head. "I mean, shit, Aki, don't we know each other well enough for you to just ask?"

Akihiko's only response is a particularly violent stroke of the cloth.

Shinjiro's whole body jerks. "Dammit! Fuck you, Aki, and fuck the fucking shadows!"

Setting the cloth aside, Akihiko slides down off the bed, crossing the room for the rest of his medkit. It's the same one he brings to fights during the boxing season, and he knows how to use everything in it.

"Well, if you hadn't rushed in before Fuuka finished analyzing the damn thing," he admonishes, "I wouldn't have to stitch you up with no anesthetic."

Shinjiro grunts, rolling over, reaching for his bag. He mutters something that sounds like 'fuck that', and draws out a black, silver tipped flask. He flicks it open, propping himself open to take a drink.

"Are you serious?" Akihiko sits back down on the bed. "Mitsuru would have your ass if she found that."

"Like I give a shit. Besides," He's flushed, his eyes a little brighter. "I'd rather you have my ass, baby."

Akihiko snorts. "Are you drunk already?"

"Maybe." Shinji lets Akihiko catch his leg again, winces slightly, the muscle jerking out of reflex as the gash is disturbed. He takes another long pull on the flask.

Akihiko takes the sharpest needle in the kit, cleans it with rubbing alcohol and threads the surgical thread. "Are you going to hold still, or am I going to have to tie you down?" He regrets saying it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

"You wish." Shinjiro takes another swig from the flask, before setting it on the bedside table. He raises his arms, taking ahold of the headboard, bracing himself. "Go for it."

It's a cumbursome position to do any sewing in--a really awkward place for a wound. He has to slide in close and wrap his right arm around Shinji's thigh so he can stitch left-handed. Shinjiro's foot practically ends up on his shoulder. Shinji seems particularly amused by this, but all he does is take another drink, and doesn't comment.

Akihiko breathes out, trying to keep his head clear enough not to fuck this up. He makes the first stitch. Shinjiro tenses, but he doesn't wiggle anywhere near as much as he was afraid he would. He tries to work quickly, because being this close to Shinji throws him, brings back old thoughts, memories of nights spent in proximity much less clinical.

Shinjiro's breath gets increasingly more ragged as he moves up the wound, toward the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Akihiko can only imagine how much it must hurt, but it's not till he pushes up the hem of Shinji's shorts to finish up, that he realizes the breathlessness might not be because of pain.

Shinji's hard beneath his shorts, and Akihiko knows Shinji knows he's realized it.

"Just finish it," he grits out. "I'll be fine."

Akihiko obeys, but he's flushed all over, something trembling deep in his stomach as he leans closer, making the last few stitches. Shinjiro smells just like he remembers, a combination of cigarette smoke and cheap, convenience store soap.

"Done," he says at last, and his voice comes out more strained than he'd thought it would. He ties off the thread quickly, putting the needle aside. "You okay?"

Shinjiro nods. "Fine." Akihiko feels a hand grasp his, squeezing tight. "I think you're gonna have to carry me back to my room though."

It's ridiculous, really, the thrill of fear that flies through Akihiko at the thought of Shinji going anywhere.

"You can stay here," he says, and after a moment he lays down beside him. Shinjiro turns his head, and his eyes are foggy and tired. He doesn't hesitate, just strains forward like a baby bird after a worm, pressing his mouth against Akihiko's. His lips are chapped, and he tastes like whatever that shit is he's been drinking, but Akihiko feels like something is melting inside him, unthawing after a long winter. He runs a hand through Shinjiro's shaggy hair, deepening the kiss, sighing softly as their tongues touch.

He pulls away after a few moments, moving down to Shinji's neck. It's been two years, but he still knows exactly what he likes. He bites at the nubs of prominent bone, kisses up to the little pressure point beneath Shinjiro's ear.

"Aki..."

Shinji's voice is tight and hoarse, and Akihiko's never heard anything so sexy. He's missed this so damn much.

Before he knows what he's doing he's sliding a hand down Shinji's abdomen, feeling the tight muscles of his abs, playing his fingertips over sharp hipbones. Shinji lets his breath out in a rush as he pushes beneath the waistband of his shorts and takes hold of his cock. It's bigger that Aki remembers, but that makes sense, since the last time they did this they were both sixteen and nowhere near done growing.

It's clumsy, moving his arm at this angle, but he doesn't hear Shinji complaining, just feels a drop of fluid run down his fingers. He strokes faster, Shinji's hips stuttering up to follow his rhythm. This can't be good for his injuries, but Akihiko doesn't stop, which is very unlike him. Still, he's already started, and he wants to finish, which is extremely like him.

"Fuck, Aki...fuck, yeah, make me come." Shinji's voice is rough in his ear and it makes his own cock twitch, but he ignores it, just focuses on Shinji right now, on the way his dick's thickening in his hand, pulsing and swelling as he comes, hips writhing against the bed, coating Akihiko's fingers wet.

His breaths are ragged, and Akihiko can feel him relaxing, the tension going out of his body.

"Shit, Aki," he says, breathless. "You sure have some fucked-up surgery techniques."

Akihiko laughs, kissing Shinjiro's neck. He hesitates a moment, before wiping his hand clean on the sheet. Tomorrow's Sunday--there'll be time to do his laundry.

And time to do other things as well.


End file.
